


Loved I Not Honour More

by WitchoftheWaste



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Final Battle, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Ultimate Sacrifice, Zevran is the best comforter ever don't disagree with me, basically the night before the final battle in Origins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-24 15:11:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8376862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchoftheWaste/pseuds/WitchoftheWaste
Summary: Vhenan Mahariel does not know she is going to die in the final battle against the Archdemon, but she thinks there is a chance. Zevran is just as good at looking after her as she is at looking after him, there is some discussion of feelings and they even talk about the future.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, so if you've read the tags, you know that this is basically final goodbyes. The end is pretty depressing, so if you really don't want to see Zev's heart get broken (I don't blame you - I'm just a horrible garbage person) then stop reading at the third from last line break and you can pretend they live happily ever after.
> 
> Vhenan was my first Zevran romance (and of course he turned out to be my favourite character ever) and she'll always have a special place in my heart. I started the playthrough because I read that Zev never sleeps with anyone ever again if a romanced Warden dies and I thought that was really romantic for some reason so here we are a few years on, and I still can't imagine her with anyone else.

'Morrigan left.'

Zevran sat up, his hair spilling over his shoulders. The contrast between the white sheets and his dark skin made her breath catch, as he always did, but for once the sight of him didn't ease the ache in her chest.

'Do you want to talk about it?'

She sighed. 'Not particularly.'

He didn't respond immediately, and Vhenan felt another wave of self-hatred. She was supposed to be the one who looked after him, as she looked after all her companions, not the other way around. He was not supposed to be the one to comfort her and choose delicate words so as not to offend. She had found her comfort in looking after him, in looking after all of them, and she was good at it. So why did this weakness keep returning? She was just trying to protect them. What was the point when they might die tomorrow?

'Caro, look at me.' Zev's words shook her out of her thoughts, and she forced herself to focus on the smoothness of his voice and the rough texture of the linen sheets beneath her hands. 'What can I do?' he said, simply.

Maybe she was over-thinking this.

'Tell me you want me,' she said, steeling herself to look into his eyes. She saw a glint of understanding, and relief washed over her, a tide of emotion that almost sickened her with its intensity.

He kissed her forehead, a surprisingly tender act that didn't match his words. 'I want you every moment. When we are sparring and your shirt becomes see-through with sweat. When you push your hair out of your eyes. When you put an arrow through a bandit's eye.' She raised an eyebrow at that one, and he smiled ruefully at her.

He continued, his voice softening. 'When you smile that little secret smile; the one that draws my eyes straight to your lips. When I kiss you and you gasp into my mouth. When we first met, I already wanted you. I was aching for you. I wanted to take you in my arms and kiss you and pleasure you until you shook with bliss. I want you now and I'll want you tomorrow and I may want you the rest of my life.'

Such an admission from him was unusual, and if Vhenan had not already been sure in some secret, confident part of herself that he loved her, then she would have gasped. Instead, she made a soft sound of contentment, and rolled on top of him. He grinned. It had only been recently that she showed more initiative in bed, growing bolder every night.

'Tell me you need me.' She stretched on top of him, like a cat. 'Tell me you need me with your hands.' She reached for his hands and put them on her hips. 'Tell me you need me with your mouth-' and he surged up to kiss her, hands tangling in her hair. Her hands on his skin were frenzied, and they moved together for a few moments, fast and hard and wild. She felt a feverish heat, a strangling desire not to think at all, to do nothing but _feel._

But just as she was reaching a hand down to touch herself, he flipped them both and she was left breathless and confused underneath him.

'Querida, there's no need to rush. We have all night. There are no darkspawn, there is no duty in this room. It's just us.'

He was so heartbreakingly right, so unfairly knowing, that she choked on a sob and buried her face in his arm. He sat her up and stroked her hair.

'I just, I can't stop thinking. Zev, please don't let me think. I can't stand it anymore. Make it stop, please. I _need_ to get rid of these thoughts.' She poured out the words onto his shoulder and for a moment they just sat there, naked bodies pressed together.

Eventually, she lifted her head up and looked at him. He traced the vallaslin on her forehead with a fingertip, and she leant into the sensation. 'You are normally so eager to take care of me, mi amor.' She sighed; she didn't try to conceal it exactly, but she didn't want Zev - or any of her companions - to feel suffocated. She just wanted - _needed_ \- to make them happy, safe, loved. He continued, 'But tonight, let me take care of you.'

She looked into his eyes, those beautiful golden eyes that never failed to make her heart stutter, and smiled a little. She was so attached to being the leader, to being in control, sometimes she forgot what it felt like to let someone she loved, someone she trusted take care of her. ' _Yes.'_

He cupped her breast, brushing a thumb over her nipple. Her lips parted, but she remained quiet. She knew he wouldn't be perturbed; she wasn't a very vocal lover.

He kissed her, softly at first, and then with more heat, mouths open and wanting. One hand stayed on her breast, gently playing with her nipple; the other wandered into her hair, pulling a little and angling her head just so. When her mind was blank and she was only aware of the exquisite feeling of his mouth and his hands, he moved away from her lips and started pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses onto her neck. As his teeth grazed her collar bone, she gasped and arched into him.

Overwhelmed by the sensation, she lay back against the pillows, panting a little. Zevran smiled at her, a hungry, feral look that sent tingles down her spine. Without breaking eye contact, he began to kiss down her body; a kiss on the underside of her breast that had her biting her lip in pleasure, a slight nibble at her ribs which had her letting out a tiny breathless laugh, and all the while his eyes on hers, perfect and golden and taking her breath away.

His hands came to rest on her hips, warm and reassuring, keeping her in place as she searched desperately for friction. And then his mouth was on her again and she finally let out the moan she had been holding in. She knew nothing but sensation, aware of every bead of sweat on her body, every fibre of her being, every part of her pulsating with pleasure. Her legs shook and tightened around Zevran's shoulders, her fingers tangling in his hair, a hot flush of desire washing over her.

He sucked and licked and kissed until she was trembling and gasping his name. And then, finally, he looked back up at her, and in that wicked, perfect, heart-wrenching voice of his, he said, 'Come for me, cara mea.'

She shivered and arched into his mouth and then she was coming, abandoned and wild and helpless; she felt as though she was pulsating with pleasure, a crash of feverish bliss running through her.

When she had stopped shaking, she reached for him. He was hard, and she thought she knew what he wanted, but he just gently pushed her back down, shaking his head. 'Not tonight. Tonight is all about you.'

\-------

Afterwards - after they had done it all again and again until she was incoherent and had forgotten what a darkspawn even was - she was lying with her head on his shoulder, sated and warm with sweat, and she asked the question that had been suffocating her.

'Zev, if I die tomorrow, what will you do?' She said it softly, as though that might somehow dim the pain.

He didn't tell her that it wouldn't happen, and for that she was thankful. He wasn't the kind of person who would try to placate her with empty promises of protection or mindless flattery of her abilities with a bow. She knew that he understood that tomorrow would be bad, the worst they had yet been through. And all it took was one mistake...

'Endure.' He said it so simply and plainly that it almost broke her heart. _He's dealt with heartbreak before,_ she told herself _. Whatever I do, whatever happens tomorrow, he'll survive. He has to._

'What will you do if _I_ die tomorrow, mi tesora?' he asked.

She almost laughed. How like him to turn the question around. 'I don't know,' she said honestly.

He took one of her hands and kissed her wrist, his breath warm against her skin. His eyes were sad and all too understanding. Suddenly, she sat up on one elbow. 'Zev, I know you might not want to hear this, but I'm going to be selfish, just once more tonight.' She traced the lines of one of the tattoos that swept carelessly down his chest. 'I love you.'

She almost expected him to run, she saw the panic in his eyes for a moment, but all he did was shiver a little, a quiet startled movement.

 'If you survive tomorrow, I might just say it back.'

It startled her and she rushed to explain. 'Zev, you don't need to - Don't feel like you have to -'

'I don't.' He placed an achingly gentle kiss on her lips. 'I wouldn't have said what I said because of that, but I'm not going to say - those words for the same reason.'

She smiled up at him, reassured. 'You don't have to.'

The moment held, perfectly painful and heavy with emotion. _Gods, please let this stay with me,_ she thought. _Even in death, let this stay with me..._

As if they both felt a raw need to move the conversation on to brighter things, he tried a wry smile at the same time as she said, 'What _will_ we do after tomorrow?'

He deflected. 'If we survive, remember.' It was said laughingly, but there was an undercurrent of worry.

'Well, I don't know about you, but I was thinking of sleeping for a week.'

'Sleeping or _sleeping?'_ He waggled his eyebrows comically and she laughed, soft and intimate.

'Oh, both. Definitely both.' She tried an eyebrow waggle of her own and he threw back his head in laughter.

'Seriously though,' she continued. 'Seriously, I was thinking we could find an aravel or something and drift around in the woods. I could finally teach you to pick locks. We could wipe out the remaining darkspawn and make love for hours.' She stretched against him, arching her back, her voice slow, tempting. She neglected to mention the fact that they would undoubtedly be needed for long meetings with Anora, for _official_ removal of any remnants of the horde, for a thousand boring administrative duties.

She did not know what had come over her tonight. Normally, she was the first person to put her role as a Grey Warden first. She was proud of the honour, even the glory of the job, and she knew the fate of Fereldan rested on her shoulders. She felt she had to be responsible; Alistair was a sweet, brave little boy, and the others were all just lucky they hadn't got the taint yet. But tonight... Tonight was just for her and Zev and no matter how impractical it was, she was going to forget about the rest for a few hours. She knew all too well that she would have to put her heart aside tomorrow.

She looked at Zevran, and she knew that he was aware of what she was doing, but he just smiled indulgently and said, 'You know the Crows think it's bad luck to talk about the future. Let's just start with fulfilling that last part. What was it again?' His eyes were laughing at her, but it was a kind, warm laugh and she basked in it.

'I believe, it was something about making love, but I might be wrong,' she said with mock seriousness.

'Oh, that was it... Now, I remember.' And his hand was running up her thigh and she was arching up to kiss him and tomorrow could wait. Tomorrow could wait forever and ever.

\--------

But tomorrow did not wait.

She stabbed the Archdemon and a rush went through her. Heady and intoxicating and powerful and _right._ And it hurt and it burned and she didn't think of Zev even for a second of a second, until that last moment where the rush disappeared and there was nothing but emptiness. In that final second, she saw his face and felt his hair and heard his laugh. And it was too late.

\-------

After the flash of light, so powerful he thought it might never end and would leave them all blinded, he knelt beside her on the ground, both of them covered in blood, and he shook her desperately. He knew she was gone, but still he said, 'She's dying. She's dying. Can't you see she's dying? Do something, Wynne, do something!' His voice broke, and Wynne just shook her head.

\------

Years later, when he couldn't quite remember how her hair smelt and what her laugh sounded like, Zevran realised that she may not have expected to die that night. He had been grief stricken and disbelieving at first, and then angry, terribly, bitterly angry, with all the fire of a betrayed lover. He had thought perhaps she intended it, that she loved glory more than him, but now he thought perhaps she had honestly expected Riordan to succeed.

He remembered the gasp in her voice when she told him she loved him and he knew it wasn't glory that she loved more, but sacrifice. And he didn't understand it, but he loved her still.

And he never had the chance to tell her, because he had been stubborn and afraid.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are very much appreciated, even if they're angry ones about how evil I am to make Zev so unhappy (sorry not sorry). 
> 
> The title comes from Richard Lovelace's poem 'To Lucasta, Going to the Wars'. I'm posting it below because it's amazing and you should all read it.
> 
> Tell me not (Sweet) I am unkind,  
> That from the nunnery  
> Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind  
> To war and arms I fly. 
> 
> True, a new mistress now I chase,  
> The first foe in the field;  
> And with a stronger faith embrace  
> A sword, a horse, a shield. 
> 
> Yet this inconstancy is such  
> As you too shall adore;  
> I could not love thee (Dear) so much,  
> Lov’d I not Honour more.


End file.
